


some have silver linings

by isengard



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, i like my men drunk jaded and desperate to touch each other, preslash sorry this is not a kissing book, this is absolutely an excuse for me to wave my lightweight bertholdt flag oops trash city
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-08 00:25:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isengard/pseuds/isengard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in some distant universe, Bertholdt Fubar is a sad, drunk college student, in love with his best friend and unable to do anything anything about it.</p>
<p>in some distant universe, they're as inevitable as the sunrise, but it's not quite dawn yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	some have silver linings

“So,” Reiner says, setting his plastic cup down hard on the railing. “I've decided I'm gonna apply to be an RA next year.”

Bertholdt almost spits out his drink.

“Seriously?” Connie asks, struggling to sit up in the precariously-strung hammock. “How come?”

“Dunno,” Reiner shrugs. “Think I'd be good at it. What are you choking about?” he asks Bertholdt, clapping him on the back. “Jesus, I thought I had a drinking problem.”

“Reiner,” Bertholdt says. “Literally yesterday you called the RA's a bunch of fascists.”

“Hey, they're only fascists if you're not one of them.” Reiner takes another sip of beer. “What, you don't think I'm cut out for it?”

“Don't they like, check your school records and stuff beforehand?”

“So? My record's fucking spotless,” Reiner says.

“Reiner, you got written up for smoking pot in the dorms twice this month,” Bertholdt points out, quite reasonably, he thinks.

“Ah, details,” Reiner scoffs. “Quit harshing my groove, Bertl. I think you're just pissed I made Dean's List ahead of you.” He takes a long pull from his cup, swallows, grins. “Again.”

“I think you'd be a great RA, Reiner,” Christa chirps from the couch. “You did an awesome job helping with the Halloween decorations in our hall this year.”

“Ha! See?” Reiner beams, slapping Bertholdt's arm with the back of his hand. “I'm awesome. I'm gonna be the best goddamn RA this school has ever seen. They'll write songs about me.”

Bertholdt, who is starting to feel his beer more and more, doesn't trust himself to say anything that won't come off more on the side of resentful and less on the side of teasing.

“Don't get his hopes up,” Ymir says, materializing next to Christa as she has a way of doing. “They don't want fratty types as RA's. Mr. Social Skills over here has a better shot.”

Bertholdt flushes when he realizes she's talking about him. Reiner frowns. “Hey, c'mon. Lay off.”

“Wow, you are _red_ ,” Ymir continues, paying Reiner absolutely no heed. “You can't hold your liquor at all, can you?”

“I'm fine,” Bertholdt says, finishing his beer to prove his point.

“Seriously, dude, did Braun knock you up during one of those intense cuddle sessions, because you're fucking _glowing_.”

Reiner says, “Ymir, I swear to God.”

She rolls her eyes. “None of you people can take a joke.”

Bertholdt hiccups.

“Bert's drunk!” Connie calls.

“Am _not_ ,” Bertholdt says crossly. His hands are buzzing strangely, as if their proximity to Reiner's on the porch railing has activated something. His head is buzzing too – “basically sober,” he adds, tossing his empty cup expertly toward the trash.

It misses, by about four feet. Okay, so maybe he's a little off his game.

Reiner looks at him incredulously. “Seriously? Already?”

Christa leans forward in concern. “Are you okay? You drank that beer awfully fast – ”

“That _one_ beer,” Ymir crows.

“Oh my God,” Bertholdt says. He staggers forward a step. “You guys all suck. Leave me alone.” He fixes his gaze on Reiner, who seems to suddenly be surrounded by some sort of halo of light. Go figure. “Good luck! Becoming an RA. Good luck with that.”

Reiner says, “Bertl – ”

“I'm going for a walk,” he announces. “Peace out, motherhuggers.”

His feet feel faster than usual, so he stumbles a little going down the steps, but once he gets momentum going, it's not that hard at all. He hears Connie say, “That was weird,” and then the noise from the rest of the party envelops him.

He's taken in by a handful of unfamiliar faces, all blurred together, forming a somewhat grotesque, writhing image in his mind, and then all at once he almost collides with Jean, who, true to form, is leaning against the wall chatting up some freshman.

“Yeah, I'll probably just swoop up a White House internship this summer, you know,” Jean is saying, smirking down at the dark haired girl in front of him. “Then go into politics down the road. It's good to stretch your legs here and there. Figure out where you can get the most done. Tell you what, I'll have this country cleaned up in no – ”

“Excuse me,” the girl says, turning suddenly to grip the arms of two freshman boys attempting to sneak past her with their drinks. “ _There_ you are, I've been looking everywhere for you.”

“Huh,” Jean says, watching her drag them away in the opposite direction. He scowls at Bertholdt. “The fuck are you looking at? I don't see you scoring any tail either.”

Bertholdt's mind flashes back to Reiner, and his stomach turns.

“Dude, are you okay?”

Bertholdt says, “I'm walking.”

Jean raises an eyebrow. “You are definitely standing still.”

“No,” Bertholdt protests. “I mean, I _was_ walking.”

“Well, that clears everything up.” Jean sighs, inclines his head to look at the sky. “Alright, come on, drunk-ass. Let's walk. This party blows anyways.”

Bertholdt shuffles along after him, muttering his agreement.

“So,” Jean says, once they're in the quad, away from the party. “I just lost a hot piece of ass to a couple of fuckin' twelve year olds. Marco's home visiting his parents or some bullshit, and I got knocked down two places on the goddamn Dean's List. I'm in sixth now.” He shakes his head. “My parents are gonna flip their shit.”

Bertholdt frowns. “Sixth is still good.”

“You're third, right? So shut the fuck up.”

“Reiner's ahead of me,” Bertholdt says dully. He isn't really sure what he means by that anymore.

“Reiner's an Art History major,” Jean snorts. “It's horse shit. All he has to do is wax poetic about how 'visceral' Pollack's early work is, and boom. 4.0.”

Bertholdt, even though he's not feeling particularly generous towards Reiner, says, “Hey, come on. Lay off.”

“Whatever, I don't even want to talk about this,” Jean says. He kicks a rock towards the fountain. “What's your deal? You looked even more constipated than usual back there.”

“I don't know,” Bertholdt says. “Reiner wants to be an RA.”

“So?”

“So...” Bertholdt pauses. It occurs to him that he isn't really sure what it is about the whole idea he's even opposed to.

“What, you think you're getting left behind or something?”

Bertholdt shrugs. “Maybe. I don't know.”

“Maybe you should be an RA too. You've got the grades, and you're definitely enough of a tight-ass,” Jean adds helpfully.

“I don't want to be an RA,” Bertholdt sighs. “I just want to...be, I guess. I just want things to be how they were.”

“Christ, this is some Lifetime Special shit.” Jean plops down on a bench, crosses his arms. “You and Reiner, you're like, a thing, right?”

“We're just roommates, “ Bertholdt says automatically. He has no way of explaining what Reiner is to him, least of all in his current state. “It's not...it's not that kind of thing.”

Jean raises his eyebrows.

“My mom is obsessed with these protein bars,” Bertholdt says. “She sells them to the neighbors, it's like, a side job. She thinks they can cure cancer or something. And she sends me a box of them, every month, and I _hate_ them.” He shudders. “But Reiner eats them. He eats one every morning. I don't even know if he likes them.”

Jean says, “Wow.”

“What?”

“I don't fucking know. I'm really glad I'm not a psych major right now, I think I'd shoot myself if I had to listen to this kind of crap for the rest of my life.”

Bertholdt says, “I'm kinda drunk.”

Jean snorts. “Yeah, no shit.” Then he straightens. “Hey, heads up.”

“Bertl!”

Bertholdt feels a little softer, a little warmer as Reiner jogs closer, stopping with his hands on his knees in front of them. “The fuck, man? I've been looking everywhere for you!”

“Come to collect your boyfriend, Braun?” Jean asks mildly. Bertholdt doesn't know how to even begin protesting, so he looks at the ground.

“Yeah, we've got an epic spooning date,” Reiner laughs easily. “Me and Legs McGee over here. Thanks for watching him. He tends to wander when he's shwasty.”

“Please stop saying that word,” Bertholdt pleads. “I am not, have never been, and will never be, 'shwasty'. Just let it die.”

Reiner exchanges a look with Jean. “Goddamn hipsters. Alright, hop to it, kiddo.” He grips Bertholdt under his arm, along his ribcage, and hoists him into a standing position. “Can you make it?”

“Reiner, I walked all the way here just fine.”

“Actually, you almost fell into, like, four of those bushes,” Jean says.

Bertholdt is suspicious, he has no memory of this, but he's also very, very tired all of a sudden. “Oh,” he says. “It's bedtime.”

“Yup,” Reiner grunts. “Come on. Let's march.”

“Hey, good luck with the RA thing, Reiner,” Jean calls after them.

Reiner looks over his shoulder and blinks. “Uh, thanks?” He turns to Bertholdt. “You told him about that?”

Bertholdt is trying very hard to keep his feet facing the right direction. “I guess it came up, I dunno.”

“Does it really bother you that much?”

_Yes_. “No,” Bertholdt says quickly. “I think you'd be really good at it. Like Christa said.”

“Taking Christa's side, you must be _hammered_ ,” Reiner says dryly. “Whoa there, let's keep it upright.”

“Sorry,” Bertholdt says after a minute or so. “This is embarrassing.”

Reiner laughs. “Hey, at least Annie's not here, right?”

Bertholdt lets his eyes drop to the ground. “Reiner – ”

“Shh, come on.” Reiner's voice is lower now, a whisper. “You know I don't mean half the shit I say, right? I'm just talking. That's what I do.”

“But – ”

“ _This_ ,” Reiner says, squeezing Bertholdt along his ribcage and pressing his fingers into Bertholdt's wrist where it's flung around his neck, “is what matters. Don't get it twisted.”

Bertholdt says, “Okay.”

They stumble along in silence for a few more minutes, and then they're at the dorm. Reiner says, “Think you'll be okay on your own for a few minutes? I told a couple freshman girls I'd walk them back.”

“Yeah,” Bertholdt says. His bed looks like heaven. “Hey, that's nice of you.”

“ _Someone_ reminded me I have a lot of pot-smoking to atone for,” Reiner grins. “You might know him, he's about,” he stretches his hand up towards the ceiling, “yay high, kinda funny looking. Sweaty.”

“Ha ha,” Bertholdt says with his face in his pillow. “I don't know why you don't just pursue your true talent of stand-up comedy.”

“Good fuckin' point,” Reiner says. His voice seems further away. “Hey, Bertl, you should apply to be an RA with me.”

Someone says, “Yeah, okay.” Bertholdt thinks it might've been him, but it might not've been, because the next thing he knows, he's fast asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> even in the deepest depths of basketball hell, these two continue to wreck me. thanks so much for reading <3


End file.
